Raven Locks & Cherry Pop
by Charlie Anne Lines
Summary: A unexpected night leads to an unexpected relationship and unplanned events featuring Riverdale's Resident Author and Broken Queen Bee. (Set After 1x13). Cheryl X Jughead (Don't like, don't read). Summary Is Shit. Please Read. Rated M Just In Case. Also on Ao3. I DO NOT OWN RIVERDALE ALL RIGHTS GO TO THE APPROPRIATE OWNERS.
1. 1 Chapter One - If Eric and Ariel Were

Chapter One: If Eric and Ariel Were Drunk Teenage One Night Stands

It happens when neither one of them expects it too. Or ever too. She's sat on a barstool in the White Wyrm, the only place that wouldn't dare to refuse her after the Blossom's extensive alcohol collection burned with half of the Thornhill Mansion, nursing as glass of whiskey, her long red hair falling into the glass, floating in the amber liquid, drifting anytime she even twitches.

He's sat across the room, his own whiskey in hand, he'd say it has a lot to do with his breakup with Betty, but honestly after all the shit that's gone down in the past couple of months, getting drunk is on the top of his priority list no matter the breakup. His new Serpents jacket is draped across his shoulders and the leather creaks gently every time he raises his glass to his lips, eyes trained on the red-head at the bar, because not that Jughead would ever admit it he's worried about Cheryl Blossom, sat in a dingy bar, drinking whiskey straight, after trying to commit suicide so she could be with her dead twin brother, who died in said bars basement. Yeah, maybe he should admit that he is a little worried.

He contemplates going up to her, but remembers the last time he had tried to willingly have a conversation with Cheryl Blossom. He bites his lip, directly were her nails had split it open when she had slapped him, and finds the pain from that particular slap lingers slightly despite that it happened almost two weeks ago and his lip has long since healed.

She knows he's watching her of course, even when slightly drunk she has senses like a fox, or and eagle, but she finds the fox more appropriate, after all the share the same signature shade. From the corner of her eye she can see the worry that glitters in his own, and muses if it were anyone else it would be considered sweet, but she isn't sweet, and she's pretty sure he's as sour as the cherries she herself eats religiously.

She purses her lips at that, she remembers Jughead Jones The Third being sweet with the one and only Elisabeth Cooper, but then again, they had broken up and Cheryl finds herself fairly certain that the boy perched across the room, watching her like a snake ready to strike, is just as bitter as she is at the moment. She stands before she can change her mind and saunters up to the table that the raven haired boy is sat at, feet up and crossed on the grimy wood that wobbles on uneven legs any time he dares to move.

His eyes follow her movements which she would find disconcerting if she hadn't got used to the way they had lingered on her all night, before coming to a stop when she does. They glance quickly up and down her red leather mini skirt and long-sleeved black crop top ensemble before meeting her own and she's momentarily stunned by his glassy blue-green orbs before she regains control and quickly blames her laps in normality on the whiskey.

Cheryl grins, teeth bared as she sits, as gracefully as one can when slightly impaired by alcohol, in the stained plush chair opposite him. She watches as he raises his glass to his lips, knocking back the remaining liquid before he simultaneously licks the lingering drops of liquid off of his plump bottom lip, and runs the long, slender fingers of his right hand through his dark, hatless locks. The part of her the knows to admit when someone is aesthetically pleasing sounds the alarm before she too raises her glass and knocks down the amber liquid. She ignores the burning as it slides down her throat, instead focusing on the bob of Jughead's adam's apple as he swallows when her own tongue darts out to wet her blood red lips before speaking.

"You've been watching me," she says in what's meant to be a teasing tone but ends up sounding raw and husky. He grins slightly, and even if its only a little, its still the darkest thing she's seen cross he face, even when her hands were pounding against his chest his face was impassive, if slightly saddened and resigned. She supposes she finds the look that flashes on his face attractive because before he minds even processed it and low, short groan rumbles from her throat.

His eyes widen slightly, but its his only indication of surprise, before his replies, grin still fixed on his lips, "I suppose I was worried about the girl alone in the bar where her brother was murdered," he rasps, his own voice husky from the whiskey he's consumed. She thinks for a moment that the comment was meant to be biting and cruel, but it lacks the usual edge his comments usually do and the relaxed look on his face seems more tired than at home than it did now that she's close enough to smell the surprisingly pleasant mix of mint and whiskey on his breath.

The comment still brings tears to her eyes, but this time they don't fall. She doesn't respond with her own bighting remark either because if she being completely honest, and for once she is, he looks just as broken as she is up close, so instead she lets out a muttered,

"Well no one can kick out the under aged girl from the bar her brother died in, after all she could just be mourning, not drinking by herself until she passes out."

He tenses slightly, jacket tightening over the muscle as her does. His fingers twitch slightly where the rest on his thigh, like he wants to reach out and comfort her, but his pride won't let him, she scoffs before grabbing the hand and pushing her own palm flat against his, her small fingers curving around his significantly larger hand. He tenses even more against the touch before she squeezes against the cold skin of his palm and his grips slackens, fingers curling to cradle her hand against his.

Cheryl admits now that they're at an awkward angle, both leaning forward over the small table between them, her right hand clasped in his left, swinging lightly between their bodies, hovering slightly above the table. She raises her eyes from their moulded hands and realizes that their eyes are level. It takes her all of five minutes, looking into the strange glassy colour of his eyes and glancing so often at the plump bottom lip that he keeps biting slightly, before she decides she wants to kiss him.

Jughead freezes against her when she surges forward and presses her lips to his, time seems to stand still in the moments before his eyes close like her own and his mouth starts moving against hers, his right hand moving to tangle in her fiery locks as her left reaches up to grips at the leather of his left arm, blood red nails leaving tiny half moon indents in the black material as her hand curves around his bicep.

The groan that rips from his mouth as she nibbles on his bottom lip, in the exact place he had been doing the incessant biting, resonates through her whole body, she tightens her grips on his arm mouth opening for his probing tongue, moaning a little herself as it slides against her own before the need to breath burns her lungs and the catcalls and whistles from the rest of the bar make there way to her ears.

She pulls back, a string of saliva dropping from both of their raised, red lips as they move their heads further apart. Cheryl takes in shallow breaths, chest heaving slightly as her eyes slowly open and she makes eye contact with the boy in front of her. The shocked look passes on his face seems to be the same that she wears from what she can see of her own reflection in his eyes.

The Jones boy grins again, this smile less dark than the last one, more lusty before his head nods subtly towards the door, hand tightening around her own, still gripped together between them when she nods slightly as well, before he stands and drags her after him from the building.


	2. 2 Chapter Two - When The Rich Girl-Poor

Chapter Two: When The Rich Girl/Poor Boy Cliché Actually Happens

Jughead wakes to a face full of red hair. Strands tickle his nose so that it twitches occasionally, clumps lay between his slightly parted, chapped lips, floating into the air every time he takes a breath. The long fingers of his right are curled around the milky skin of a warm curved hip, while the fingers of his left are as numb as his entire left arm, pinned down to the bed by the small body of one Cheryl Blossom.

The Cheryl Blossom who's head is lying on the space where his heart resides and who's hair unsurprisingly smells like cherries. Cheryl who's own right hand is curled around the side of his neck, thumb lying on his pulse point, crimson nails scratching slightly against the delicate skin of his throat. He can't tell, he thinks amusedly, what part of the crimson on her nails is from nail polish, and which part in from the blood she drew from his back and ribs during the course of the night. He also can't decide between which Cheryl his prefers, the bitchy Queen Bee of his high school life, the dominating presence in bed as the other half of the admittedly phenomenal sex that happened last night, or the Cheryl who is currently asleep in his arms, face so innocent in slumber she could almost pass for a normal human being and no the Devil incarnate herself.

He decides it's the Cheryl he sees now, knowing it's the most honest he's especially seen her, day old, messy make up, hair disheveled, lips bit and raw, neck and collar dotted with love bites, the curve between her throat and shoulder sporting a bruising bite mark, raised red lines dotted along her hips and outer thigh, scratch marks from his blunt nails, but the deciding factor s she's not talking. When could someone be the most honest apart from when their not talking.

A small grin spreads across his lips when she lets out a soft snore, before the sound reverberates around his skull, making the slight hangover he has known with a soft pounding against his brain. His eyebrows furrow at the small jolt of pain, the pins and needles in his arms tingling, resigning himself to being stuck beneath a sleeping Cheryl, he closes his eyes and allows her soft breaths against his chest to lull him back to sleep.

She awakes to strands of her own fiery locks dancing against her cheek, moved by the soft breaths Jughead puffs out making the strand that lay across his face drift. She smiles slightly as she pushes up on her elbow, pulling her right hand from his neck, enjoying his unconscious shiver as she drags her red nails lightly against his chest. Her lips feel raw and chapped when she breathes and the familiar feel of a headache and dry throat, symptoms of a hangover make themselves known when her eyes drift to take a silent inventory of her body.

Raised, red scratch marks from Jughead's blunt nails curve around her hips and her outer thigh, she can feel the tell tell throb of a bruise forming around the bite mark he gave her between her throat and shoulder and she's pretty sure the surrounding areas of her neck and collar are littered with darkening love bites. A grin forms on her face when she considers going to school the next day, a Monday, bruises on show, strutting up to tell Betty Cooper what exactly she'd done with her ex-boyfriend Saturday night. The grin spreads wider when she takes inventory of the boy lying next to her.

Hatless raven locks curled and messy, locks falling against his forehead, lips as red and raw as hers feel. The blood red lipstick she had worn last night, staining his throat and chest, circles of it forming around his own love bites. Scratches like a cats, thin and scabbed cur around his ribs, she's fairly certain she's done the same to his back as well. _No,_ she decides, she'll cover her marks with make up and file these images away for herself, she doesn't want anyone else to know, this is hers.

Cheryl takes one last look at Jughead's face, locking it away in aforementioned file, before rising off of the bed, away from the body heat too gather her clothes. She dresses silently before tip-toeing towards the door of the trailer their in and glancing behind her one last time as she lets herself out of the door and steps into the daylight.


	3. 3 Chapter Three - You Shouldn't Dare A

Chapter Three: You Shouldn't Dare A Person Who Doesn't Have Anything Else To Lose.

Avoiding each other is easy after that night. He attends the school in the Southside now, and she rarely ventures into the Southside any more, drinking away the pain doesn't make it leave completely, it's something that needs to fade on its own.

When they do see each other its in Pop's. She's sat in a booth, surrounded by Vixens, he's sat opposite Archie Andrews half a room away, their eyes meet for a second, chocolate against his strange oceanic orbs, both gazes hard, as if daring the other to say something, daring them to talk about what they had previously left unsaid, they hold the gaze until Cheryl's eyes begin to water and she blinks, breaking the spell, both gazes turning away.

They don't avoid each other after their staring match, Cheryl turns up at his father's trailer, long after they had both left the fluorescent safety blanket of Pop's. Once again, its her who breaks, minutes after Jughead's opened the creaking door to lean against the jam of it. The soft glow from the lights inside illuminate his lean form, raven locks glistening, falling in curls against his cheekbones, skin glowing against the white t-shirt which shows every move of his muscles as he moves to lean. She stops at his crossed arms, lingering lightly on the strained muscle before following his beauty marks like to dot-to-dot until she meets his eyes, the colour in them darkens as he looks at her, turning a dark blue, almost black that reminds her of the ocean at night.

His eyes are still daring her, pushing her to move, until she gives into the intense gaze, she reaches forward, lips pressed against his own, hands buried in his hair, crimson nails scratching lightly at his scalp. Jughead doesn't freeze this time, he's kissing her hungrily as soon as their lips meet. His hands reach for her, one on her hip, the other sliding around her back until he can pull her close enough to close the door and push her against it. The hand on her back slides over the curve of her hip, sending shivers up her spine, before it rests against her hip bone, thumb rubbing lightly over the flesh it finds there. The action causes her to gasp and his tongue finds the perfect opportunity to slide against hers, the small moan it draws out of her makes the hands on her hips tighten, until they slide down her outer thighs.

When they find their purchase, his long fingers curls around the milky flesh left bare by her skirt, palms flat at the back of them, his lips pull from hers but her disappointed groan turns into one of pleasure when his lips meet her neck, dancing along the column of her throat until they find the soft spot behind her ear and he begins to suck lightly.

She barely has time to moan before his knees are bending sightly and the hands around her thighs are picking her up. She settles her legs around his hips as his hands slide up her thighs to meets his own, her head falls back against the door she's still pressed against when he nips slightly at the area he's been sucking. Her eyes squeeze when tighter, crinkling a round the edges as his rough tongue laps over the bite soothing it. _Yes,_ she thinks, _we are going to have to talk about this._


	4. 4 Chapter Four - If Good Girls Like Bad

Chapter Four: If Good Girls Like Bad Boys, Do Bad Girls Like Good Boys?

Judging by the cooling spot beside him on the bed Cheryl had already awoken and was probably long gone. Not that Jughead minded. Honestly he'd rather avoid the inevitable conversation they needed to have for a little while longer as well, so he'd admit that he was a little supirsed to find her sat crossed legged on his couch once he'd exited his bedroom ready for school.

She has obviously made use of his shower while he had been asleep, her long red hair fell down her back in limp, damp curls, small wet splotches from her still drying hair dotted the shoulders of his white t-shirt which was draped across her small frame, sleeves long against her arms, hem of the shirt brushing against the creamy flesh of her thighs. The thought that she looked _right_ in his clothing crossed possessivley in his mind before logc kicked in and her cleared his throat to catch her attention.

The redhead turned to face him, make-up free eyes boring into his, the normally rich brown colour turned a strange whiskey shade in the morning light and the sheen on tears. Her damp lashes closed, breaking their gaze for a moment and Jughead glanced down to her lap, where his manuscript lay, balanced in the hollow of her intertwined legs. The sides of the mauscripts paper creasing under the gri of sher fingers, smaller dents caused by her crison nails rested futher over, in the middle of the stack of papers and Jughead was sure that if anyone looked closely enough the small crescent moons on the pages would match the ones at the start of the long, raised, red welts of scratches that slide down his back like ribbons.

With his gaze still resting on the manuscript, he gulped, as if the bob of his adams apple would suddenly swallow the uncomfortable knot that formed in his throat at the sight of the Blossom girl reading the story he's written about her brother's murder. Jughead opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Cheryl turned her head back to the papers in her lap. In that moment her noticed that the girl who had walked through the halls of Riverdale High like she owned them, the girl who had stood as fierce and unyeilding as a mountain, had never seemed smaller than she did right now, hunched over the physical documentation of the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

The same feeling that had lay heavy on his chest the day he had walked up to her in the cafeteria had creeped up on him again as he stared at her, the weight of the feeling was almost suffocating, and he only felt like he could breath again as he took slow, hesitant steps towards her. His brain supplied the knowledge that the feeling that lessened as he drew closer to her was the need to comfort the girl in front of him. Before the last few weeks, whenever the need to comfort had related to Cheryl Blossom, he would smother the thought, banishing the small flame before inn had the chance to turn into the fir of an action. This time however, he was alone with her, and she with him, so no one would notice if her made his way over to the other side of the couch and sat down nxt to her. No one would notice if when he snaked a leather clad arm around her shoulders that she would tense under the weights warmth before relaxing into the hold and leaning over to bury her face into the crook of his neck, warm cheek pressed against his shoulder. No one would know that he could swear he felt the heat of her skin on the flesh of his shoulder, even through the thick leather of his Serpents jacket and the wool of the navy knit sweater he wore underneath.

Almost definately no one would know that when he buried his nose into the soft crimson of her hair, that he could still smell the faint scent of cherries underneath the aroma of his own apple shampoo and lemon scented bodywash.

His hand moved up to fiddle with the ends of her hair as her nose skimmed up the collumn of his throat, her own hands moving from his manuscript to clench at the fabric of his sweater. It was when he felt the droplets of tears that he pulled her closer, arms tightening around her torso, dragging her body onto his lap where she wobbled slightly before gaining balance, her arms tucked up against his chest and her legs pulled up against her own. When he looked over her hunched form through strands of her hair, he unconciously noticed that her tonenails were the same clours red as he fingers, the rimson standing out against the black of his jeans as he squeezed her gently, before one hand started to make small, soothing cirlces into the flesh of her hip.

"Its okay," he mummered against her head, light puffs of his breaths causing her firey hair to flutter slightly. She whimpers at his words, a small sound in the back of her throat and untabges the fingers of one hand from their place on his sweater, sliding the hand along his collar, across his shoulder and eventually down his arm until it reaches his own hand. She hesitates slightly before picking up his hand in hers and flipping it over so its palm up where it rests on her thigh, once its in the position she wants, she slide her palm against his, squeezing it, then links their fingers toghther.

Juhead squeezes her fingers against his own, moving his thumb afterword so that he can rub the same circles he had rubbed against her hip around her knuckles. Smoothing the soft skin he finds there, he doesn't even care that he nails leave indents against the back of his hand.

Cheryl stays there, perched on his lap for hours, so long that Jughead's pretty sure he's missed most of the school day, but he can't really bring himself to worry about it when he's got an upset girl resting against his chest from her spot on his lap. She only leaves her space after both their stomachs protest at the long absence from food, pulling on her skirt, but leaving Jughea'ds t-shirt in its place on her shoulders. She brushes through the tangles of her copper coloured hair on her way to the door, and her hands resting against the handle before she stops and turns.

She faces Jughead, who leans against the counters in the kitchen, jacket stripped off, abandoned on the couch and the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to hs elbows, pale skin stretched over the muscle of his forearms that lay crossed against his chest, when he meets her stare with his strange oceanic eyes she mutters an honest, "It's not okay, but thank you."

A small smile lies on her plump pink lips as the words linger in the air and he smiles back slightly, nodding at her once she's opened the door to leave and steps through with a small wave.

They fall into a friendship easily after that. Cheryl turning up unnanounced with food, often staying the night, curled up against his side in his small bed that groans under their added weight. Jughead texting her during school hours from underneath the ratty desks at Southside High so that she doesn't feel alone even while being surrounded by people.

It doesn't take Cheryl long to tell him about how she struggles to sleep, especially after Jason's eath and even more so after the fate of her father and her mother's turn to booze.

Jughead tells her of his life with F.P's drunkeness, of his mother and sister's departure. He lets her sleep at the trailer so that she doesn't witness what he had too growing up, also so that she manages to get some sleep without having to worry about her mother. It reaches the point that her clothes litter the laundrey basket with his, and hang on hangers in the wardrobe too, little trinkets of hers litter the place, lipstick stains half the coffee mugs in the kitchen sink and three weeks after she started staying there Cheryl in pratically living with him.

They do't have sex again in that time, but always end up cuddled together in bed they share after they fall asleep side by side. Its quiet, peacful, and both of them feel better, **happier** , than they have in months, but then they are two of the unluckiest people on the planet, and all good things must come to an end.


End file.
